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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519606">strangers on the platform</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/horsedivorce/pseuds/horsedivorce'>horsedivorce</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Divine Pulse, Dubious Science, Lost in space - Freeform, M/M, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Use, Rating May Change, Science Fiction &amp; Fantasy, Slow Burn, Spaceships, Spoilers, Surveillance, Tags May Change, and its called, in this spaceship, references to previous fire emblem games, there's a casino</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:02:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/horsedivorce/pseuds/horsedivorce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a five-year long expedition to "new earth" Delphi, SEIROS's Progenitor starship is a massive achievement for the company. SEIROS intends to secure it in any way a company would secure its costly investment, and employed some of the best pilots, engineers, and officers to man the ship. However, after nine months of traveling through space, the Progenitor stutters to a terrifying stop. </p><p>--</p><p>Byleth is a former captain of the Faerghusan Air Force and is offered the position of helmsman on board the Progenitor. Having no remaining family on earth, he accepts the offer and disembarks on the greatest expedition of the century.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minor or Background Relationship(s), My Unit | Byleth/Seteth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>first fic on site, haven't played through all routes yet, some character's might be ooc, go easy on me?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Progenitor, the flagship starcraft of SEIROS and a marvel in human engineering, would disembark on a five-year long voyage to the promising planet of Delphi within the Elibe star system, some three light years away. The Progenitor could reach eighty-three percent light speed, possible through the breakthrough design of nuclear pulse propulsion. It was a spacecraft like no other, not even akin to its predecessor <em>Garreg Mach</em> or its earliest iteration <em>Belhalla</em>. It was several thousand feet in length and width, a mountain of gunmetal aluminum and pale steel alloy, impenetrable by radiation or debris—protective against the vast vacuum of space. But it moved like a writhing muscle and rotated at its ends. Satellites extended out from each end, and at those ends were further gyrating vessels and solar panels. The windows on the ship reflected the sun’s mighty light, and the ship appeared to glow in its inky and empty backdrop. </p><p>SEIROS purported that the Progenitor had a thousand passenger capacity, an additional three hundred crew count of the most experienced pilots, engineers, and soldiers. It had a biodome at its very center that hosted a countless number of home-planet flora, and a rather extensive patio where passengers could lounge and interact. Deeper into the ship and one would find an entertainment center, a casino and bar, restaurant and theater, filled to the glassy brim with alcohol, music, and a sense of a brighter future. Maybe if one were to explore additionally, they could find a gym, a pool, a virtual arcade, or even a spa. </p><p>On board the SEIROS Macuil, Byleth witnessed this gargantuan milestone of metal through a several feet thick window in a cool yet clinical hallway. White, dim lights pulsed beneath the aluminum panelling of the floor and tracked up flush into the walls, up onto the ceiling, undulating like a soundless whisper. No one seemed to roam the station; maybe if Byleth lay still to his thoughts, he could hear the quiet drone of Macuil. He stepped closer to the window, peering down onto the few unmanned crafts that continuously worked on the Progenitor. Further down and Byleth could see the dark expanse of space, not a scintillating star or star system to disrupt the remote endlessness; it was like looking into the ocean chasmic in its resounding mystery. Disquieted, Byleth stepped back. </p><p>Though, suddenly, his heart fluttered. His hand instinctively hovered over his chest. He was not afraid of heights, but he supposed that there was no such measure of height there that could possibly frighten him more than the infinite expanse of space. It was terrifying. Enough to stutter a gasp or quiver a heart. His hand smoothed down his jacket, the curl in his chest finally easing. </p><p>Byleth's hand fell to his side when he saw the window's reflection of a mint-haired woman approaching him. He turned to face her, eager to look at something that wasn't dead space or blinding metal. </p><p>"Byleth Eisner, a pleasure to finally meet you," she extended her hand and Byleth shook it, "I heard of your duty in the Duscuran Conflict, and I can't thank you enough for your service."</p><p>Having nothing to add, Byleth simply nodded. Their hands separated. The woman was Rhea, the SEIROS CEO, a faceless leader of a new age. It was his first time seeing her, even when her name was widely publicized and as omnipresent as her company. Her image was not as available as the SEIROS starships or its logo and, in fact, upon researching her name, her face was absent from major press conferences or committees. In an era of trifling privacy, that was simply unheard of. Perhaps, to meet her would have unnerved him, excited him even; some may have bowed their head to her presence. But Byleth passively stared at her, curiosity finally slaked. </p><p>"How do you like the Progenitor? It's so nearly done now, just the last few panels of materials to add, and a few more positions to fill in the crew."</p><p>"It's impressive."</p><p>Rhea smiled warmly, her whole face scrunching in her amiability, her teeth glistening from the window's glow. Byleth wondered if his face was capable of doing that. "I'm glad you think so. We were aiming for utmost perfection."</p><p>A lull in their speaking, of which Rhea stared expectantly at her company—Byleth was hardly effective at carrying a conversation. So, he dumbly repeated, "yes, it's most impressive."</p><p>A hand reached out again, landing at his elbow and squeezing, Rhea's smile dissipating. "I hope its internal facilities will be to your liking. Follow me," she let go and continued to whatever destination she had in mind, Byleth at her heel, "the helmsman quarters are also quite luxurious and similar to the first-class suites for regular passengers; you may share the space, though I do believe you are traveling alone?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Rhea nodded. "Additionally, you can arrange your own schedule, as two other experienced pilots will be at your call—in fact, I do believe our team has sent you a SEIRcom recently?"</p><p>"They have."</p><p>"Very well. All the crew's contacts will be on your SEIRcom within the next few days."</p><p>Rhea stopped in front of another hallway, brighter lit and non-windows, the ceiling arched instead of flat and stratum-like. She entered, Byleth followed. A hydraulic door hissed opened at the end of the hall, inviting them into an office-like room, a desk at one corner and filing cabinets against the walls. It was utterly reminiscent of a regular office in a regular building in some regular city, a lamp illuminating paperwork on what Byleth presumed to be Rhea's desk. Some of the same aluminum panelling glowed warmer than it did in the main hall, and even copper lined each individual panel. </p><p>"Apologies for the disorder, I haven't visited the Macuil in a while." She shimmied out of her coat and draped it across her desk chair, and her hands reached to tidy the strewn papers into neat piles. </p><p>"Haven't you overlooked the Progenitor's construction?"</p><p>"Oh," Rhea looked as if she had not expected Byleth to answer, "I have. But I rarely came into this office."</p><p>"Why have you brought me here?" Byleth prodded, watching as Rhea stuck some folders into the countless drawers around her desk. The first inklings of lethargy prickled at the edges of his vision.</p><p>"The Progenitor will be set to leave in two month's time. You've already filled out most of the required paperwork for the expedition, as well as passed the physical exam—"</p><p>"Two month's time? I thought the launch wouldn't be until new year."</p><p>Rhea smiled, shaking her head reverently. "We saw no use in delaying the expedition any longer. The Progenitor is very nearly complete, and all passenger classes have been filled—"</p><p>"They have? I thought a few more spots remained."</p><p>"Truthfully, Byleth," Rhea hesitated wholly, "you are the last registered passenger on this expedition." Byleth blinked in response. "Our previous helmsman unexpectedly quit a few days before we had contacted you. He mentioned a name, someone more experienced to monitor navigation on the Prog, and we went with his choice. Most of our established crew don't even know you have been contracted."</p><p>"I see," Byleth fiddled with his jacket's lapel, "who was he, the previous helmsman?"</p><p>Rhea pursed her lips. "We have agreed to keep his privacy. His name will be retroactively removed from all previous progress reports and replaced by yours. I ask that you keep this from the public."</p><p>Byleth simply nodded. "Of course."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>Luxury first-class Progenitor suites, contemporary and modern, SEIROS aesthetic woven into every square inch of every room; a large Faerghusan-size bed, a kitchenette, an ensuite, accommodation for families</em>—Byleth skimmed the article, skipped lines of text, and continued reading—<em>sponsors may be qualified for executive suites, thank you for your contribution. SEIROS Progenitor Expedition, Imperial Year 2300 (tentative to change).</em></p><p>He searched up other publications, stumbled across a multitude of agencies examining the SEIROS five-year expedition.<em> Will the Progenitor Expedition fiscally ruin SEIROS? What is their board thinking, sending a thousand-plus civilians to an unknown planet? All they want is delptonium, they don’t care about securing humanity’s future. Who is Rhea Sulphus and why is she important to the multinational tech conglomerate?</em></p><p>“Mr. Eisner!” Byleth heard three tentative taps at his apartment’s door, the voice of his landlady filtering through its large gaps. “Someone is here to see you!”<br/>
 <br/>
A pot on a stove steamed hotly, his ceiling fan roared furiously, the sounds of arguing neighbors penetrated the thin walls and he could hear sirens wailing in the distance. He was afraid of inhaling too deeply, the smell of mildew following him into every room of his apartment, and looking out his window, crime a regrettable probability in this block. Setting his SEIRcom down he stood up from his old and dingy pleather sofa and sauntered to his door. Peaking through the peephole, he saw his little granny landlady and…</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>He sprinted to his bathroom and grabbed a comb, feverently taming down his hair; he dropped the comb and ran to his bedroom, picking whatever shirt he could find and throwing it on. It was wrinkly and dirty and—another knock alerted him and his landlady called again, “Byleth! I hear your fan, I know you’re in there!”</p><p>He whipped back to his door and opened it—forgetting to put on shoes, embarrassingly barefoot, and stared openly at his landlady and—”Captain Eisner. Seteth Gricenchos of SEIROS. May I come in?”</p><p>Byleth nodded, opening his door further; Gricenchos walked in. His landlady gave him a look, a sagacious one, and tapped her shoe on the doorframe. “You’ve yet to pay rent—” Byleth promptly shut the door.</p><p>“Captain Eisner—”</p><p>“Byleth is fine.”</p><p>“All right. Byleth,” Gricenchos tried but Byleth could see his face twitch with displeasure. His scowl was stony and he stood in perfect posture; his navy blue uniform reminded him of a real military officer, and the gold SEIROS logo on his breast pocket gleamed in the afternoon light. He had a folder and a clear package of what appeared to be clothing tucked under his arm. “I had not expected a former officer of the army to live in such—well, excuse my bluntness—squalor. I was surprised when my SEIRcom brought me here, I actually had to call the offices to confirm your address.”</p><p>Just then his fan threatened to unhinge from the ceiling. It oscillated uncontrollably—working on overdrive. Byleth glanced at it as it whined and his hand idly flicked the light switch off. Gricenchos had a look of utter puzzlement. </p><p>“Um. I also did not expect our team to have promoted such a young man into an executive position. I had not even heard your name before—”</p><p>“What do you need?” Byleth interrupted, Gricenchos’ tone trampling his usually stubborn patience. </p><p>Gricenchos proffered the folder and package, his scowl graduating into a glare. “A final term agreement and your company jacket. It is the final four days here on this planet, I urge you to… bid farewell to any of your relatives.”</p><p>Byleth took the proffered items and blinked. “Okay.”</p><p>They held each other’s gaze, Byleth unfettered and the other unnerved and the first to glance away. “Faerghus has quite pitiful veteran benefits. I would have expected that they carted their officers off into luxury. Or, at least, to better living conditions…”</p><p>“Do you need anything else?” Gricenchos shook his head and scoffed. </p><p>“We will be in close quarters for the next five years. From what I heard you have yet to communicate with your co-pilots or your fellow executive officers. Your face will be publicized among the ship’s passengers, they will know who you are and will want to speak with you. Our operations officer has repeatedly tried contacting you through your SEIRcom, but he says you always just leave him on read—”</p><p>“von Essar?”</p><p>“Oh, so you have at least attempted to remember names.”</p><p>“... no. I really only know his name.”</p><p>“Okay. Do you at least know who I am?”</p><p>Byleth stared, paused, and was about to shake his head "no" but he did know who the man was. Rhea mentioned him in some of her correspondence—a man named Cichol “Seteth” Gricenchos, her good friend and Progenitor executive officer. <em>The</em> executive officer. Byleth conceded. “Yes.”</p><p>“A blessing.” Gricenchos couldn’t have possibly sounded more austere. “Well, Byleth, I am pleased to have made your acquaintance.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
On the day of, Byleth left a large wad of money on his landlady’s desk and a vase of flowers. He also wrapped a box of her favorite tea in gag wrapping paper that had an ugly dog pattern. Despite what his neighbors professed, Byleth honestly liked the lady. She was stringent and demanded rent weeks before it was due, but her hobbling presence reassured him. At least she had agreed to his leasing of her apartment after his father’s death and a lower rent. A very forgiving woman, indeed.</p><p>He took a taxi to the sub station outside town, sticking a few extra bills in the pay-box and a further tip for the driver. Down the street from the subway was the cemetery and Byleth supposed he had to visit his father one last time in a long time. He wasn’t sentimental about his death anymore and, quite frankly, expended all his tears when he heard of his death. Walking into the cemetery proved his heart hardly twinged, even as he approached his father’s headstone, and even as he crouched down to read the epitaph:</p><p>
  <em>“Under the spreading chestnut tree</em><br/>
<em>I sold you and you sold me:</em><br/>
<em>There lie they, and here lie we</em><br/>
<em>Under the spreading chestnut tree.”</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here it is! it's a bit short, but just wanted to get some things out the way. and i've laid out most of the story so future chapters will be, hopefully, regularly posted. thank you for reading</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At the center of the soundless cinema-dark cockpit, glossy-floored and aluminum-titanium framed—an octagonal and spacious room with towering windows on five of its eight sides—was the Progenitor’s helm. White lights alike to the Macuil’s led to the podium, pulsed in time with the engine’s sigh and exhale; they also ran onto the cockpit’s metal framework, iridescent and pearly, and dimmed the higher they reached. A soft mechanical breeze twined into the room’s metallic scent; so, the cockpit was oddly drafty—as if the outer space surrounding the windows produced it. Banisters encircled the podium, a level of its own, and other diminutive consoles coiled around that.  And at each window long counters displayed the Progenitor’s status, or morphed the view of outer space. </p>
<p>It looked new, everything did. As new as the newest autonomous car from that new year—or even a paper-thin phone or some smart appliance—the cockpit was shiny and minimalistic. White, copper at some edges, unblemished or unvarnished steel, concrete-floored—it reminded him of a warehouse but a rather pristine and well-looked after warehouse. Byleth idly tapped at his helm’s monitor. The display was see-through, holographic, and flickered with each tap. It was a few hours on board now, and many of his fellow officers <em>finally</em> introduced themselves—to the executive officers behest. The moss-headed man carted him around, his smile fleeting and fair-weathered as he ushered Byleth forth stating<em> Officer Eisner, Progenitor’s helmsman</em> to all their associates—dragging him some more, smiling once again, smile dropping as he searched for more crew. Once Gricenchos—who also offered his preferred name <em>Seteth</em>—released him and ordered him to the helm, Byleth slouched and lethargy seeped into his eyelids. Meeting so many people at once, it did not unsettle Byleth but it <em>was</em> tiring; he had to force his own smile, feign some pleasantness—at least to be passable. Using his face, how long forgotten it could become cooped up in his apartment or ice-picking away at the Progenitor’s manual, did not come naturally to him. What did was, well, thinking things through.</p>
<p>The helm pinged as his finger tapped too close to the navigation menu. A diagram of Delphi floated onto the screen, information sliding beside it. In large open lettering it stated the destination date. His fingers hovered over the lettering, as if in disbelief that he would navigate this mountainous Progenitor amidst the stars during five years. </p>
<p>“Delphi, Elibe,” Byleth intoned quietly, “dash, three, point, eight, four, four. Ethereal moon. Imperial year, 2304.”</p>
<p>The helm did not reply, nor did the co-pilots at his earpiece. But he heard the neighborly voice of the captain. Byleth glanced back to the bird’s eye, a platform elevated into the darkness, a single console illuminating the face of the surprising—<em>Captain Rhea</em>. He looked, squinted, trying to decipher the expression Rhea wore, but came up empty. If meeting her was curiosity-fulfilling, what could this be—Rhea’s sudden involvement? He read rumors online, some elusive Progenitor captain who made no previous statement—it just <em>had</em> to be Rhea. But the CEO of Seiros? Who would give that up? But she did, two hours before Byleth arrived at the ship; she had rescinded her position as CEO and became the Progenitor’s captain, suddenly and controversially. Byleth could only imagine the frenzy in Fódlan’s media right then. </p>
<p>“Officer Rengald and Commander von Charon,” Rhea spoke through his earpiece, “have escorted all passengers into their rooms for departure. Dr. Casagranda has also secured the medical bay as well as the pharmacy. Officer von Essar has yet to complete status checks, however, I do believe it will be done within five minutes. Once he has given the green light, you are free to begin acceleration.”</p>
<p>Another voice, Byleth’s co-pilot Shamir, responded, “copy that, captain. Officer Eisner, at our current position, we are safe to start at forty percent propulsion. Once we reach the asteroid belt, speed will drop—but after that, it’s smooth sailing to the first checkpoint.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” Byleth replied. His fingers tapped on his display, opening up the engine menu, opening the throttle levers. A warning popped up and Byleth flicked it away. In the few months he was able to learn the Progenitor’s interface, he could say that he knew most of its material like the back of his hand; it was intuitive, regardless, so if Byleth fumbled, he could reliably improvise. </p>
<p>“Oh, it’s starting! I’ve been waiting for this <em>forever</em>,” his secondary co-pilot—a young man named Cyril—chimed, “hey, Shamir, officer, what do you think’ll happen once we reach the ‘long road.’”</p>
<p>Shamir tutted. “Pay attention to your console.”</p>
<p>“KEY is in working order,” a deeper modulated voice said after, and Byleth recognized it as head of communications Jeritza, “it is reading at ninety-nine percent accuracy. Also, the Faerghusan Space Program sent us a message… ‘Goddess-speed on your travels, Progenitor 2304. FSP.’”</p>
<p>“<em>Real</em> short message,” Cyril remarked and then chuckled. “I think they think we won’t make it.”</p>
<p>“Please, pay attention to your console,” Shamir stressed. Byleth glanced to his left, seeing as Cyril beamed a cheeky grin at his senior pilot, Shamir returning a cursory glare. They were on ground level, beneath Byleth’s helm at their own individual console; they were also awash in low and technological blue glow. </p>
<p>Jeritza continued, “the first transponder has connected—we are an hour away. The next transponder in seven days. The third in two months…”</p>
<p>“And they’re all communicating perfectly?” Shamir inquired.</p>
<p>“Yes. They have all connected to each other and to the Progenitor’s mission control acceptably. Though, the accuracy of all future checkpoints diminish the farther they are from the Progenitor. I believe the last transponder above Delphi is at seventy percent accuracy—“</p>
<p>“Hey that’s not bad!” Cyril’s voice chirped and Shamir sighed. </p>
<p>“If you say so,” Jeritza said, “in any case—you are safe to start, Officer Eisner.”</p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Five minutes in and the porous and substantial asteroids blinked past the cockpit’s windows. Several alerts flitted across the helm, transitory and at once irrelevant; the Progenitor leapt past the rock-belt like hopscotching on a hot summer day. Cyril held his breath, said so, and exhaled loudly in Byleth’s ear—Shamir stayed silent; Byleth shared Cyril’s anxiousness, it churned in his stomach starkly, but he kept his hands steady over his console. Little dangers like this, tiny gambles and coin-flipping, kept him oddly at ease; the hard furrow of his concentrated brow felt familiar in a hazy and nebulous way, like trying to remember a dream. He supposed his time as a pilot back on Fódlan was the cause of such nostalgia but even those times were a blur. </p>
<p>His hand pressed the throttle levers and accelerated. The ship trembled and groaned as it demanded the engine further, the floor underfoot reverberating through his boots. The circular coolant-ring in front of the ship, which rotated and sprayed fluid onto the ship (a fine way to stave off interstellar dust particles that, if not staved off, could have the same kinetic energy as a bomb), glistened in the fleeting star system’s star’s shine; Cyril suggested that they should mask it and Byleth obliged. He opened the windows’ menu, tapped on settings, found ‘digital display’, and disabled the coolant-ring. The windows writhed and undulated, the coolant-ring steadily disappearing from view, and Cyril seemed overawed.</p>
<p>“<em>So</em> cool!” </p>
<p>Byleth asked, uncharacteristic but curious, “didn’t you train in SEIROS’ simulated flights?”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Cyril started, perhaps because an officer actually addressed him. Byleth saw Shamir glance at him incredulously but Cyril happily answered: “I did! But the window technology-thing was still a work in progress. I’ve never seen it before. Rhea described it in detail to me, though, but I never thought it’d look so cool.”</p>
<p>“You know Rhea?”</p>
<p>Cyril paused, hesitant, and Byleth frowned. Was that the wrong question to ask?</p>
<p>“Cyril’s Rhea’s kid,” Shamir answered for him.</p>
<p>“Oh.” <em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p>Their conversation wilted. Rhea never mentioned a <em>son</em>, nor did the countless articles about her. He wondered, briefly, if Rhea heard their conversation and—well—she probably did. Byleth lay any further questions to rest, his eyes steadfastly on the helm. He fiddled with the display, opening the KEY system and reading the information on each transponder; one after the other, increasing gaps in between each, they glimmered brightly on a map stretched across the display. He tapped on the first one and a live stream fed into his screen—a black screen, unsurprisingly. Maybe if he squinted he could see an approaching Progenitor. </p>
<p>“Now that we’re on track to the first checkpoint,” Rhea’s voice suffused into his ear, “you may rest from your position. Your co-pilots can monitor navigation from here on out, and we may experience turbulence as we exit our star system—just after the first checkpoint.”</p>
<p>It was unthinkable, really, to step away from the helm after a negligible five minutes at its podium; Byleth’s hands reflexively grasped at the edges of his console, scowling as he glanced at the windows and spoke, “we’ve only been five minutes from departure—”</p>
<p>“As helmsman, you monitor your pilots,” Rhea interjected, her voice unwavering, “you can see their displays on your console if you so wish but all of your commands are within the secondary helms as well.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Byleth, we are in good hands,” Rhea continued, a smile seemingly in her voice, “Shamir is a trusted friend of mine and has extensive experience as a commercial pilot. She’s also worked for numerous space programs around Fodlan.”</p>
<p>But, credentials hardly persuaded Byleth, or even eased him. Anyway, he did not doubt his co-pilots talents; he wanted to stay at the helm, keep his eye on the small alerts and little disturbances that trembled the ship or the floor he stood on. His hands stayed firmly on his console. “I’ll stay here for now, I’d like to see this ship reach the first checkpoint.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An hour now, hundreds of millions of miles away—upon billions, conceivably—from home planet, the Progenitor roared past the checkpoint and onto its seven day journey to its approximate checkpoint. Billions of miles… an unutterable amount of distance, unfathomable and even fantasy… Byleth’s chest fluttered, terror seizing him suddenly, but as soon as it did—disappeared. He exhaled, closed his eyes, his hand smoothed over the cool aluminum of the helm. The helm would become his apartment’s computer, his city’s shopping district, his life’s ambition, his only home away from <em>home</em>.</p>
<p>Byleth opened his eyes and any existential creeping from some black and sunken skeletons of his mind returned to their sarcophaguses. He thanked his co-pilots—rather, they thanked him. Shamir suggested they celebrate, a bit uncharacteristic of her but pleasantly surprising Byleth nevertheless. Cyril jumped on the idea wholly, his bright smile encouraging and amusing a faint smirk from Byleth. He glanced at the bird’s eye, expecting to see Rhea but seeing the executive officer instead.</p>
<p>Seteth’s hand stroked at his chin, the other hugging his chest; he still had his navy uniform on, one that no doubt inspired the crew’s uniforms, one that Byleth himself wore. But he looked at Byleth curiously. Byleth wondered how long he was observing in place of Rhea. He wondered if his first hour as helmsman was satisfactory, enough to incur an audience—no matter its size. They broke eye contact simultaneously. </p>
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